


Five Steps to Managing Your Panic Disorder

by TheNonessential



Series: I Have Charlie Feelings [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNonessential/pseuds/TheNonessential
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Step One: Breathe<br/>Step Two: Hide<br/>Step Three: Pain<br/>Step Four: Compartmentalize<br/>Step Five: Clean Up</p>
<p>Feel better for a bit, rinse, repeat. Charlie has a system. </p>
<p>Re-write of Kingsman where Charlie isn't a complete asshole (at least all the time) and Eggsy helps him work through a few issues. </p>
<p>Updates Sundays</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, so I was really unhappy with the way this turned out so I've revised the first chapter into two parts. Now that I hate it less things should run smoother! Instead of a completely new chapter I'm going have the panic attack scene expanded and revised for Sunday, and then an actual new chapter up later in the week so I can get back on track with scheduling. Sorry I'm the worst!!
> 
> Also: BIG shout out to leifmotifff who is amazing and read/edited my draft while I freaked out about writing in the background.

It is entirely possible that Charlie Hesketh has daddy issues. He’s not an idiot after all; he understands that it isn’t normal for children to have to steel themselves for every conversation with their father. He knows that it isn’t normal to have to suppress panic when faced with even the thought of being a disappointment. Unfortunately understanding the rather _not normal_ quality of their relationship hasn’t done anything to extinguish his need for approval. It has however led to a foolproof method for managing the tightness of breath that comes with even hearing his name.

Step One: Breathe

He was seven the first time he realized he couldn’t breathe whenever his father frowned. It was nowhere near as dramatic as the panic attacks that started up in high school, the ones where his entire world begins to collapse around him. Instead it was just twinges, small bursts of panic where his chest would get noticeably tighter.

He heard his father comment to his mother that Charlie wasn't associating with the right sort. His mother scoffed. Children play with other children; they don't know to think of these things. But Charlie realizes that as much as she means to defend him she isn’t. Isn’t saying that his behavior is correct, just that he’s too little to realize he’s wrong yet. Charlie doesn’t like being told he’s too little to do anything, much less things that he’s going to have to do one day anyway.

He could be better. He wasn’t bad, really he wasn’t. He liked it when his dad was proud of him and he _didn’t_ like it that he was making him upset by hanging out with the wrong people. He could be better. He would do anything to get the disappointment out of his father’s voice. He remembers the slight panic as his chest tightened and he realized his breathing was getting harder. He sat in the hall shallowly breathing until his nanny had found him ten minutes later, concern apparent on her face. She held him for a while, told him to just breathe with her, it would help. She was right, he stored that away right then and there, after talking to father he needed to breathe.

Breathing helped in the moment, but it didn’t change that fact that he didn't meet his father’s eye at dinner. Nor did it change the fact that the next day he refused to play with Jaime or Sammy or Jack at recess, no more playing house, no more fighting over who gets the dinosaur and who gets the Barbie. He told them as kindly and as firmly as he could that he needed to find the right sort.

Step Two: Hide

When breathing doesn't solve the problem—and it often doesn't when you're trying to relieve anything other than a tight chest—hiding at the very least keeps things private.

It wasn’t until fifteen and a C in upper level geometry that Charlie was forced to admit that he may have a problem. Not a panic disorder. Never anything with disorder in the name. But something that bore down on him until no amount of deep breathes made a difference anymore. Something that made his smile slide of his face the moment he stepped into a private room. Something that made him sob like a child until there was nothing left for him to do but bite his lip until it bled and press his face into knees.

But the thing was, people with disorders were weak. They couldn’t handle themselves. They couldn’t handle their emotions. Charlie wasn’t like that. He could mask about anything with a cocky grin—which wasn’t a lie. He was that much better than those around him and he knew it. It was all a matter of mastering it. Of making sure his private business stayed private. And he could do that, he _did_ do that, and he had those moments—whatever they were—under control.

Step Two (Revised): Hide somewhere with a lock

Charlie’s single at Eton had afforded him privacy; but only when he remembered to lock the door behind him. Rufus very rarely knocked and it was only a matter of time before he found Charlie huddled in bed with a pillow pressed tightly against his face. Needless to say it was awkward for both of them. Rufus had excused himself almost immediately and they had never needed to discuss the fact that they weren’t going to talk about it. But Charlie is pretty sure he told Digby. They exchange glances whenever Charlie suddenly excuses himself from a room, but they never try to stop him.

Step Three: Physical Pain

There was a time when he was younger he nearly bit straight through his lip. His nanny had been a mess trying to slow the bleeding. She had fussed over him trying to figure out how it had happened, asking if he fell, or if he couldn’t feel his lip, was he numb maybe? Her worry was palpable as he just shrugged and avoided eye contact with every new question.

Charlie just couldn’t figure out how to explain it. How do you explain to someone that the world just got too fuzzy, that you needed something to clear it up? He couldn’t breathe like she had taught him if he couldn’t even feel himself not breathing. It was weird knowing you were gasping but in a far off sort of way that you couldn’t do anything about. He hadn’t bit his lip on purpose, but he had felt better once he did. He knew where he was when he was in pain. He didn’t say that to her. Charlie doubted he could have said that to her. Eventually she sent him off with only a resigned order to be more careful.

He made sure to find less obvious places after that. She would always fuss at the sight of blood but if he clawed at his wrists or thighs just to get a hold of things, she never needed to know.

Step Four: Compartmentalize

Whoever said that ‘you’ll feel better once who talk about your feelings’ hadn’t had any pride. Charlie had never really tried to articulate why his father terrified him as much as he did, but he doubted that telling someone about it would make any difference. It wouldn’t calm him down and it wouldn’t solve anything, it would just make sure that people knew. He didn’t need people to know what went on in his head. He certainly didn’t need them to know how damaged he was. He just needed to never think about it really.

He was very good at putting things out of his mind. A boy on the street catches his attention? Go fuck a girl. His exam performance didn’t match up to expectations? Stay awake studying until his body is begging for rest. He spends an hour sobbing on the floor? Examine the things that put him there and make sure they won’t be an issue in the future. Make sure the only thing he’s focusing on is being the best, everything else is unimportant.

Step Five: Clean Up

Once it’s all over and Charlie can breathe again there isn’t much else to do but clean himself up. He can never scrub off the shame he feels at being so weak, but he can make sure there aren’t any tear stains left under his eyes. He can make sure he looks like he’s ready for the outside world regardless of how he feels.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, not much is actually different, I just added a bit! Buuut next chapter will be all new if y'all are still willing to put up with me!

Scoping out the candidate dorm on the first day of training Charlie immediately knew he was going to have a problem.

Simply put there was no privacy at all. No separate shower stalls, no dividers between the beds, not even stalls around the toilets. They were to be in full view of their fellow candidates at all times and considering training could very well take the better part of a year if he got far enough—and of course he would, there wasn’t a chance he would fail—it was unlikely he wasn’t going to need a moment alone at some point.

_He_ knew he had a handle on the situation but Merlin may not agree if he suddenly broke down in the middle of a lecture. He quickly found that tests weren’t actually an issue; he was fine when he was focusing on his task. The moments of down-time were the real problem. When there was nothing to do but hang around the dorm with the other candidates he had the time to look around and see who was no longer with them.

He had spent the rest of the night after Amelia was eliminated looking for a place, any place, secret enough that no one would notice him disappearing too. In the end though it had been Rufus to find the solution, he spoke to everyone in the room a few nights later loudly about a storage room that wasn’t likely to be used at night when the cleaning staff had gone home for the night. Everyone had looked at him like he was insane, Charlie included, but he had given Rufus a short nod anyway. Say whatever you want about him but he truly was loyal to a fault, and appropriate enough that he would leave Charlie to his business when he was about to go off the deep end.

Like now. Alistair was finally eliminated, weapons scores not up to snuff. Five months in, three down, six to go. Daniel and Alistair eliminated. Amelia dead. He hadn’t known her, hadn’t particularly cared to know her, but Daniel and Alistair were familiar. They had never been friends but they were people he had seen walking around Oxford, their families had been invited to his father’s events. They didn’t make the cut. And Charlie knew they wouldn’t make the cut, knew that only one of them could be the new Lancelot, but these weren’t random boys plucked from the street. These were men who he knew first hand were excellent at what they did and they were being sent home to their families. The thought of being in the same situation gave him an itch so deep he wanted to claw straight through his arm.

Which was why the room the good, the room meant he could indulge his ridiculous panic attacks and no one would be any the wiser.

“I’m going for a walk,” Charlie announced to the room at large as he pushed himself off the bed, Rufus and Digby exchanged the same short glance they always did, Eggsy and Roxy looked unimpressed. It only takes him a few minutes to walk to the spare room which is good because he barely has the door shut behind him before his breaths are coming out heavier. Step One: Breathe, he could do that.

The thing about his _episodes_ is everything becomes hyper-focused and fuzzy at the same time. Charlie remembers sliding down the wall until he’s huddled on the floor. He remembers when the tears start. He remembers the constant stream of n _otgoodenough notgoodenough notgoodenough goingtofailhim_ running through his head. He even remembers when the door opened and footsteps hurried towards him. He’s never been oblivious to the world around him; it’s more like he can’t bring himself to care about this person seeing him like he would have a couple of moments ago. He doesn’t care that they’re saying his name louder and louder and shit he knows that voice. He doesn’t know why he didn’t recognize it earlier. Maybe his head was too loud.

“Charlie, Charlie I need you to look at me okay? Charlie,” Eggsy didn’t sound frustrated. He sounded concerned and that sentiment alone was almost enough for Charlie to lift his head just to tell him to fuck off. Anything to get his voice to stop dripping with emotion like that. He took a deep breath, trying to get enough air in his lungs to tell Eggsy exactly where he could shove his sympathy, but a sob tried to break out instead and he was forced to bite down on his lip to quell it. He tasted blood but didn’t let up, even as Eggsy’s voice adopted a note of panic. Step Three: Pain.

“Shit, okay, you’re not going to like this”

Charlie only had a moment to wonder what _this_ was before he felt Eggsy shoving him away from the wall and slipping his body behind his own. Charlie’s first instinct was to shift away but Eggsy just pulled him back so that he was leaning against his chest, an arm clamped over his waist to keep him from escaping. The world shifted so that Eggsy was brought into the same sphere as hyper-focus as his own nerves. The rise and fall of his chest, his breathe at the back of his neck, the hand soothing over his side, everything too close and too clear. Especially his voice.

“Try to match my breathing Charlie, just breath with me okay?”

It took a moment, if anything the breathing got harder, until it wasn’t hard at all. After a few moments his body moved to copy the feeling of Eggsy’s chest rising and falling. A few moments more and the pressure on his lungs eased up.

“Okay good, you’re doing good, can you open your eyes?”

He wasn’t aware he had closed them. Although now that he thought about it he wasn’t sure he wanted to open them. He wasn’t sure if he was able to face Eggsy yet—or ever again possibly. So he shook his head slightly and Eggsy didn’t push, just kept his free hand rubbing up his side.

They sat in silence breathing for a few minutes before Charlie was finally forced to face the fact that the situation was only getting more demeaning the longer they sat like this. More likely to draw attention from others as well. Opening his eyes earned him a sigh of relief from Eggsy huffed out against his neck.

“Christ Charlie thank God, I thought I was going to have to grab Merlin”

He didn’t know what to do in the face of such honest relief. He hadn’t expected Eggsy to be worried about him. Insulting him felt wrong, and dangerous. He couldn't afford to piss the dog off until he knew what he was going to do with his new information. 

 “Let go of me” he bit out stiffly. Eggsy didn’t argue, didn’t do anything to convey he was annoyed by Charlie’s shortness, just let go of his waist so he could move away from him. Charlie took another deep breath before getting up from the floor. He glanced down at Eggsy still sitting against the wall for a moment before extending his hand. Eggsy kept his expression neutral as he accepted it and pulled himself up. He was smart enough to realize that Charlie didn’t want to hear him right now. Thank God for small favors.

The storage room was small enough that they were practically chest to chest. He needed to clean himself up, he didn’t need a mirror to know he was a disaster; he could taste the blood from where he had bit into his lip. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket—sent a mental thank you to his mother for insisting he always have one ‘to offer to young ladies’ of all things—and held it against his lip, letting his eyes slip closed as he leaned back against the wall.

“Are you going to freak out again?” He could tell by Eggsy’s tone that he was baiting him. Wanting to see if things were back to normal Charlie figured.

He refused to take the bait.

“Why are you still here?” he tried to keep his voice as level as he could, not looking to instigate, just trying to get him to leave.

“Yeah, no problem, you’re fucking welcome,” Eggsy snapped out before wincing at the heat in his own voice, “My mum used to get like that. After my dad died, she always liked having someone around—"

Charlie cut him off, “As touching as I’m sure this sob story is I’m not in the mood. Leave, I’ll make it back to the room on my own.”

Eggsy’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth as if he was going to snap back, but he seemed to think better of it at the last moment.

“Right. Merlin asked us to look for you; we have another assignment. Try to get back fast.” With that Eggsy slipped out past him, letting the door slam shut behind him.


End file.
